


Clean

by battle_cat



Series: Together [33]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bath and sexytimes. That's literally it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean

“You’re filthy.” She says it with a smile on her face.

It’s the sixth time he’s come back. Each time the stay is longer and the parting shorter, without him really intending it to be.

(There’s a rush of warmth in his chest when she presses their foreheads together, and each time it gets a tiny bit less terrifying.)

She’s not exactly clean herself, her arms streaked with engine grease and dirt, sweat glistening on the skin of her chest above her top. (His eyes drift there so often as she helps him unload the stray bits of salvage from the back of the bike that he wonders if people around them notice.)

He _is_ filthy, clothes and skin caked with dust and grit from sheltering in the lee of some low bluffs through a minor sandstorm, an extra layer on top of the usual crud of road and sand and sweat. He hasn’t been away long enough for his hair to grow out to feral lengths, but it’s tacky with dirt and grime.

“Bath?” she offers when they’re done unloading. He nods and follows her out of the garage.

 

The room that used to be the Imperators’ private bath is high in the Citadel. Now it’s free for anyone to use, but it still has a door that locks from the inside.

He can feel a smile on his lips when she bolts the door behind them and starts kicking off her boots and unstrapping her arm straightaway. She quirks an eyebrow at him. “What, you thought you were getting a tub all to yourself?” she says, and she’s got that light in her eyes that makes his heart stutter. “You’re not _that_ special, Fool.”

She tugs off her top and unwraps the binding around her breasts, flushed damp skin always startlingly pale next to her tanned arms and chest. “More efficient this way.”

“Mm, right.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

She drops her trousers (one-handed, without even _looking,_ goddammit) and steps out of them, then lounges naked on the bench with a look of, _What are you waiting for?_

He’s been distracted enough that he hasn’t even removed his jacket. He scurries out of his clothes.

 

They step into the shallow depression cut into the rock floor, under the metal grate that makes the water come out of the incoming pipe in fine droplets ( _shower;_ he has to search his memory for the word; everyone used to have them).

He shivers when the chilly water runs over his skin; it’s such an unfamiliar sensation. Red dirt sluices off his body into the basin cut into the rock, where the water will be captured and filtered to be used elsewhere. He squeezes his eyes shut and steps under the water, scrubbing at the crud with his fingers. He’d forgotten how good it feels.

On the road you get used to the layers of dust and grit, until you don’t even notice them anymore. There had been long periods of time (years?) when he’d hardly cared, as long as nothing was infected, had forgotten altogether what it was like to have enough water to wipe, let alone stand under a stream and wash. Even though he knows they use the water two or three or five times over, it still feels like an unimaginable luxury.

When he opens his eyes Furiosa has a chunk of the greasy soap Dag makes, cradling it expertly between her right hand and left elbow to work up a lather to scrub over the spots of grease and dirt on her chest and arms. It’s an entirely practical moment, but he can’t help staring: at the muscles that move under her skin as she rocks slightly on her feet; at the way she tucks the soap between her elbow and the curve of her breast instead of into a hand that’s not there; at the line of her neck and the focused look on her face as she scrubs at a patch of sticky grease above her left elbow.

She catches him watching and there’s the barest hint of a smile on her lips. She steps close, very close, and he’s torn between watching her face and the way the water slides over her bare skin.

Her soapy hand works through his hair, smearing lather and kneading against his scalp. Some kind of purring noise escapes him at the contact. She’s watching him very closely, her expression warm and open and fond.

(There are times he comes back and she can barely get the door to her room closed before they’re on top of each other, heated and frantic. One time, late at night, when they couldn’t wait even that long and made it only as far as the cab of the new Rig. But this soft, slow savoring of each other’s bodies and simple touches is nice too.)

He dips under the water again, rinsing the dust-strained lather from his hair. She holds out the chunk of soap. “Help me with the right arm?”

She lets him scrub away the grease from her forearm and elbow and fingers, sighs appreciatively when he massages her hand. His soapy fingers slide over her entirely grease-free breasts and she pushes into his touch, her nipples hardening against his slippery hands, her lips parting in a breathy little sigh. And then she’s leaning in to kiss him, her tongue dipping into his mouth and her body pressing eagerly against him. He’s already hard, and she rolls her hips against him firmly enough to make him suck in a breath.

And then just as quickly she pulls away, slipping under the water to rinse herself clean with a teasing little smile on her face.

She turns the tap off. “In the bath,” she murmurs, nodding her head to the basin cut into the stone.

 

Now that they’ve washed off the worst dirt they can slide into the precious water. It’s warmer than the tap, and for a moment he just sinks into the alien feeling of being surrounded by it, bending his knees so only his face is above the water line.

Furiosa ducks under the water and comes up glistening. There are bits of rough cloth on the stone edge of the bath and she picks one up to scrub away the last lingering bits of grime, the dirt that cakes in creases and hard-to-reach spots.

He slides closer and takes the cloth from her. She turns her back to him so readily, with such easy trust…it makes him shiver.

He scrubs her back, her shoulders, up over the short bristles of her hair. He’s mesmerized by the way water trickles down the shifting muscles of her back and his free hand drifts to brush against her side under the water.

She scoots against him, drapes an arm up over her head and behind her, fingers in his wet hair. “Smegging right armpit,” she says. “Do you mind?”

She makes an undignified noise of pleasure when he scrubs hard. She’s stopped shaving the hair under her arms; now he wonders how she ever did it so cleanly on her right side. The metal arm is powerful but dexterity doesn’t seem to be its strong point.

He’s sliding the cloth in slow strokes, up to her elbow and then back down over her side. She relaxes against him, head tipping back, the curve of her ass bumping against his cock. It only takes a tiny shift for her to turn her head and kiss him, sighing into his mouth as his hands stroke over her under the water.

She takes the cloth and scrubs him clean in between teasing little kisses. He doesn’t even mind her behind him, seeing the words scrawled on his back. Her mouth flutters along the line of his shoulder as she scrubs his back, nuzzles against his neck as she washes his chest and stomach.

When she reaches his crotch it’s not the cloth but her hand that wraps around him and strokes, firm and agonizingly slow. And then he has to pull her against him, the kisses suddenly hot and greedy, the cloth chucked onto the stone floor so she can scratch her short nails against the back of his neck.

She wraps her legs around his hips, and in the water it takes nothing at all to hold her up, a hand under her bum as he presses her against the stone wall of the bath, the taste of her tongue and her lips and her breath in his mouth. She’s grinding her hips, pressing his hard cock against his belly between them, and he dips a hand under the water to brush against her pussy. She moans when the tips of his fingers trail through hot slippery flesh.

He sucks down her neck, enjoying working her up, the barest flicker of his thumb over her clit, a tease of his fingers around her opening, the little _mm_ s and _ohh_ s that come out of her. His fingernails are rough and dirty; he doesn’t actually want to put them inside her, but the noise she makes when he slides his knuckles along slick flesh is plenty enjoyable.

She is not a patient woman. It’s not long before she moans, “Want your mouth on me.” He sucks hard right under her jaw and she groans in frustration. “You know damn well that’s not what I mean.”

He nips at her earlobe, thumb brushing lazily over her clit until she squirms and whimpers, “Unngh, come _on_ , Max,” hushed and raw into his ear. It makes his heart skip a beat, the wrecked, pleading voice she reserves just for him, without any apparent shame, this little part of her no one else sees.

He’s quite certain she can get out of the tub on her own, but he likes the surprised squeak she makes when he hoists her out of the water to sit on the clean stone floor, her legs dangling into the water. He nudges her knees open and licks a long stripe up the wet skin on the inside of her thigh. Her head tips back.

He maneuvers her legs over his shoulders, and she’s sitting back on her elbows, spreading her legs wider for him. He thumbs her open, nudging between wet hair to lick straight into wetness, relishing the taste of her and the breathless moan she makes.

He looks up at her while his tongue explores, watching the arch of her neck and the heave of her chest, her closed eyes and half-parted lips, the water glistening on her skin. Grinds his tongue hard against her clit and gets a sharp cry out of her. She sinks back onto the stone floor, breath ragged.

He laps and sucks at her clit until a particular flick of his tongue makes her hips twitch, and then he wraps an arm over her lower belly to hold her still while he does it again and again and again, until she comes with a clench and a shout muffled by her own hand over her mouth.

He climbs out of the water to sit next to her, feet dangling in the water, a hand trailing idly over her skin. After a moment she sits up to curl next to him, pressing against his wet skin, leaning over to kiss and lick at the taste of her own juices on his mouth.

Then in one smooth motion she’s straddling his lap, powerful thighs bracketing his hips, her half-arm around his neck, her hand steadying his cock so she can sink down on it. He puts his hands on her hips and tugs her down the last inch, twitching his hips to hear the ragged sound she makes. She rests her forehead against his for a moment as they both savor the feeling of being lodged together, her cunt wrapped tight and wet around his cock.

Then she starts moving, a rock up and a press down that has them both moaning. Each time she posts up on her knees she _squeezes,_ and each time she sinks down she relaxes, drawing him in deep, and it’s enough to send spots across his vision.

“Ahh, Max…feels so good…” she breathes in his ear as she moves. “Missed having your cock inside me,” she murmurs, and he twitches.

“Mm?” he inquires. His hands slide to her ass, kneading as she rocks up and down.

“Think about it…when you’re not here,” she gasps. “Think about it when I touch myself.” He growls low against her neck.

“Yeah? Show me.”

Her hand drifts down to play with her clit, the twitches of her hips getting shorter and rougher. He wraps his arms around her back so he can watch her again, getting herself off around his cock, and fuck, it’s so unbelievably hot, her wanton little gasps and the way her can feel her muscles starting to shiver around him, and— _fuck_ —

His orgasm surprises him, makes him clutch her close, and she’s right behind him, burying her face against his neck with a long, drawn-out whimper.

 

They’re lying on the sun-warmed rock beside the pool, Furiosa draped across his chest, her head tucked under his chin. The foot of his good leg trails in the water. They’re both calm and sated and clean (well, mostly) and he could almost fall asleep here.

“Max?”

“Hm?”

“Could you…” She breaks off, and he can feel her take a deep breath in against his chest. “Could you…stay a while this time?”

“Mm. Something you need me for?”

“No. I just…” There’s the faintest tremor in her voice. “Like it when you’re here.”

“Mm.” He wraps his arms tighter around her. “Me too.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Oasis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701050) by [DoeOfTheWood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoeOfTheWood/pseuds/DoeOfTheWood)




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